D'ANGELAY posted the letter and we settled down to wait as patiently as possible for the result, either a reply from Passy or a lightning swoop by the Gestapo, or perhaps both.
We scarcely ever ventured out of our little room in the top of the hospital and Giselle had stopped coming to see us because we could never be sure that she was not being watched inside the hospital as well as outside. Carnac grew more silent and taciturn and sat in a chair hour after hour, smoking his Gauloise Blues with a revolver on the table in front of him. He was obviously expecting trouble because whenever we heard footsteps in the corridor outside I noticed his hand move quickly towards the table in readiness.
It is difficult to describe my feelings during those last days. The long strain that had never relaxed day or night, the depression following our failure, my love and anxiety for Giselle all combined to stretch my nervous tension almost to breaking point. I was eating badly and rarely slept more than three hours at night because of the terrifying nightmares that had begun to haunt me. I had almost forgotten the other Peter Claydon, that pilot in the R.A.F. who less than three weeks ago was flying his Spitfire above Northolt with such a light heart and carefree mind. He seemed to me now to be another man, and this another existence.
But the worst nightmare of all was the feeling, growing more insistent every day, that disaster was impending. I think I mentioned before that I possess at times a curious warning instinct, a mental danger signal that seems to warn me of approaching trouble and I was unmistakeably aware of it now. Yet there was simply nothing we could do to avoid it—that was the maddening thought—nothing we could do to save Giselle or ourselves. We had started this hunt for Passy and now we were tied down to the hospital by circumstances quite outside our control. There would have been one possible way out, one only, and that was to call the affair off and try to get away while there was still time. I think I can say quite truthfully that we never considered this even as a possibility.
We did discuss, however, our chances of escape after Passy was killed and both agreed that “Charlie” would be too risky to use a second time. The only alternative was to get across the demarcation line into unoccupied France and thence perhaps make for Spain or Switzerland, but plans were extremely difficult to make in advance as we had no idea of the date we should want to leave or our circumstances. If, as seemed probable, the Gestapo were hard after us, then the journey would be exceedingly difficult to say the least of it.
The only decision we arrived at was that Giselle must get away at all costs, if necessary escorted by d'Angelay while we tried to hold off the pursuit for a short time. We didn't tell the doctor of this plan, however, as he would only have refused point blank to leave us in the lurch, and we intended to spring it on him at the last possible moment.
On the fifth day d'Angelay came into our room. His round face was alive with barely suppressed excitement and he held a paper in his hand. I knew in a flash what it was.
“Here!” he exclaimed. “Giselle has just opened it. The fish is nibbling!”
Carnac took the letter quickly and I peered over his shoulder. It was written on cheap paper from an address in the Moabit district of Berlin.
Dear Giselle,
I got your letter. It is very difficult for me to take a holiday now but I would like to meet this man you mention. He may be an enemy of mine but I am not afraid of him or his threats. I shall try to arrive in Laon on Thursday evening and will meet you in the Deux Frères about eight. Tell our friend to meet us there, but he must come alone. I refuse to talk to him at all unless he agrees to this. Say nothing and destroy this letter.
Au revoir,
E.P.
Carnac gave a long low whistle of excitement. “Mon Dieu, but we've got him! They were right in London after all. And tomorrow evening—that gives us just time to get ready.”
“You can see we've touched him on a raw spot,” I said. “He wouldn't be coming as quickly as this otherwise. And he wants to see this man alone—that rather confirms your theory about his intentions, Carnac.”
He pondered for a moment. “There is just one other point —I can't see why we didn't think of it before. If he kills this man who threatens him, one person is still left who knows something of l'affaire Belfort in 1933, and who might mention it to the Boche if they interrogated her—Giselle.”
“That’s true,” said the doctor. “It looks as though he intends to shoot her too.”
“I think so. That is why he says destroy this letter. It might come to light afterwards, but if it is destroyed then there's only his version of the whole matter and he will find a way of explaining it to the Boche.”
Carnac was absolutely right. I saw it immediately and, oddly enough, I was rather relieved. Always at the back of my mind there had been a slight feeling of revulsion at the prospect of killing a man in cold blood, traitor and murderer though he was, but now with the realisation that he would stop at nothing to save his skin, even the murder of a girl, the last trace of this feeling vanished and it never troubled me again.
We discussed our final plans for the morrow. They were but little changed from the previous attempt. Giselle would meet Passy at the Deux Frères as arranged and bring him along to the hospital on the pretext of meeting the unknown man. We should “deal with him” (the doctor's phrase) and d'Angelay was to arrange with two medical orderlies whom he could trust for the mortuary arrangements afterwards. With luck an extra body might never be noticed in the present confusion. The four of us would then leave Laon during the night, if necessary splitting into pairs, and make for the “zone libre” where at any rate we should be in much less danger than we were here.
“It all sounds very simple,” said the doctor doubtfully.
“Too simple,” said Carnac. “It won't be as easy as that.”